


held your bare bones with my clothes on

by harry



Category: One Direction
Genre: awww zarry friendship, brief larry its not even there really, girl!Niall, girl!Zayn, harry's super cute :):):), larry - Freeform, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harry/pseuds/harry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Zayn thinks that this might be a bad thing, this infatuation with Liam's lips and hands and eyes. Zayn hopes it doesn't grow to anything else.<br/> <br/>But, as most of Zayn's life, it goes exactly the way she's hoping it doesn't." </p>
<p>aka an american high school au featuring snuggly harry, superstar louis, cute liam, silly zayn, and wise niall</p>
            </blockquote>





	held your bare bones with my clothes on

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends!!! finally i've gotten around to posting this, i've been writing it for a loooong time and have had it sitting around for a few weeks 
> 
> title from "cheerleader" by st. vincent
> 
> love and thanks to my guiding light alana without u this fic would probably be disgusting

Something that's always comforted Zayn is the first drag of a fresh cigarette. She likes the smoke that coats her mouth and throat, the husky weight of it inside of her lungs. As she and her family roll into their new town in their broken-down station wagon, followed by the clunky moving van, Zayn craves it, craves the nicotine in her veins – a nice cig to help smooth out the anxiety that always plagues her so often. She's in unfamiliar territory, and she doesn't like it.  
   
When they pull into their new house -- a quaint split-level that reeks of suburbia -- Zayn just stares for a bit until her younger sister, Safaa, pushes her impatiently and demands her input on the bedrooms. Waliyha said that Safaa and Zayn could pick their room first, since her room will be all her own. (Zayn sighs and yearns for her own bedroom but she knows that most nights Safaa will come into hers to sleep anyways because Waliyha's chronic insomnia has always kept her up.)  
   
Zayn lets Safaa pull her inside and up the tiny staircase, into the upstairs hallway -- there's a bathroom and a bedroom on one side and two bedrooms on the other. Safaa and Zayn peek into all of them before claiming the second-largest room with the sun-window as their own. Waliyha grins wearily before retreating into her tiny bedroom, already placing her things in their rightful place in her head, and Zayn and Safaa do the same.  
   
Their room is a simple rectangle shape, so they agree (actually, Zayn suggests and Safaa nods along because Zayn's her older sister and no matter what she knows what she's talking about) to put their beds along the walls and their two dressers side-by-side. Neither one of them wears dresses or dressy clothes very much, so the closet will be half for clothes that need to be hung and the other half for Zayn's books.  
   
While they're unpacking, Zayn notices with an air of smugness that her bed frame is broken -- one of the beams seems to have been split right in half. She grins behind her hand as her mother sighs and says that her mattress will have to be on the floor until they figure out another alternative -- Zayn prefers the mattress on the floor, but her mother has always been adamantly against it.  
   
The Maliks finally crash after unpacking all of their shit, cardboard boxes littering the house. Unpacking is going to take a few days, and Zayn wants to get it over with and be at least semi-organized for the beginning of the school year. Even though it's her senior year, the difference from her old high school to her new one made some of her credits defect and be not viable, which means that she has to take actual classes to be able to graduate. Zayn already hates this town.  
 

* * * *

   
The next morning, Zayn rouses to Safaa hovering over her.  
   
"Good morning!" she crows, a bright smile on her face.  
   
"Morning, Saf," Zayn grumbles, throwing her arm over her eyes to block the light. "What time is it?"  
   
"Time to organize our room!" She nudges Zayn's side. "Ready?"  
   
"No," Zayn says, shifting over to her side. "Zayn needs more sleep."  
   
"Aw, c'mon!" Safaa whines, tugging on her arm. "We need our room to be pretty."  
   
"And it will be if it isn't spattered with blood. Your blood. So scram," Zayn threatens, pulling her pillow over her head. Safaa heaves a sigh and leaves, letting Zayn fall back to sleep and avoid reality for a little longer.  
 

* * * *

   
Zayn walks for a bit before finding a good patch of canvas -- the brick wall of the local CVS, slightly guarded by bushes but still visible enough. She shakes her can of spray paint, dark purple, and paints a portal into the dark and stormy ocean.  
   
When she passes by a week later, it's still there.  
 

* * * *

   
Zayn sucks on her cigarette as she wanders the neighborhood, letting her feet get comfortable with the area as she smokes through her pack. She periodically stubs them out with her shoe, a trail of cigarettes left behind her.  
   
As she walks past an innocent-looking brick colonial, she catches a sight in the front window -- a rather attractive boy lifting weights, lips pursed in an 'o' as he forcibly blows out each breath. Zayn's feet stutter and she slows down to watch, and when he looks up and sees her watching him, she merely smirks, quirking her eyebrow at him, and takes another drag on her cigarette as he looks. Then she turns away and continues walking, leaving the cute boy and her cigarette behind as she heads for home.  
 

* * * *

   
The first day of school creeps up on all of the Malik girls -- except for Doniya, of course, since she's already at college. The night before, Zayn helps Safaa pick out her outfit ("The first day of middle school is the most important. _Nothing can go wrong_.") and they lay it out on her dresser. (Zayn's going to wing it.)  
   
(Zayn thinks that applies to most of her life.)  
   
The morning of, Safaa's crying, Waliyha's locked herself in the bathroom, and Zayn's ready to kill for a cigarette. Her mother's attempting to coax Waliyha out of the bathroom while simultaneously comforting Safaa, and Zayn's on the back porch smoking in her t-shirt and underwear, ignoring the lot of them.  
   
At a quarter after seven her disgruntled mother finally appears at the door. "Zayn, get dressed, school starts in twenty," she says, mouth turned down in disapproval at her smoking.  
   
"Fine." Zayn gets up and stretches, ignoring her mother as she says that she would like Zayn to have pants on next time she decides to lounge around outside.  
   
   
For her back-to-school outfit Zayn chooses, after about 0.2 seconds of consideration, to wear her Vans and a pair of shorts with a random black t-shirt. Her backpack is filled with her Bukowski, a pack of cigarettes, and her trusty Zippo, but void of school supplies. She'll go and see what she needs, buy a few folders and notebooks and attempt to get through the year.  
   
The school is within walking distance, so Zayn doesn't care that she doesn't have a car. Her mom has one and can't afford another one for Zayn. So she walks, she smokes, and she contemplates exactly what she would do to get out of going to school. Pretty much anything, she muses, even have sex with the principle. She kind of finds the whole old man/young girl relationship kind of kinky and hot anyways, so she figures she could muster up the nerve.  
   
"Hey!" she hears someone shout. Zayn looks behind her, cigarette dangling out of her mouth, and watches in amusement as a girl with long blonde hair runs up to her. "You new here?" she pants, swinging her hair out of her face as she takes deep breaths.  
   
"Yeah. Zayn," she says, offering her hand. The girl shakes it with a grin.  
   
"'M Niall Horan, live a bit down the road. Welcome to Bayberry!" She grins again, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her teeth are white but slightly crooked. Zayn finds them endearing. "What grade are you going into?"  
   
I'm a senior," Zayn says, stubbing out her cigarette. "You?"  
   
"Same. Want to compare schedules? I can tell you what teachers are good and which ones aren't and stuff. Maybe we'll have classes together!" Niall's enthusiasm literally rolls of off her in waves, and Zayn struggles to breathe through it. She takes another drag to ground herself.  
   
Zayn hands Niall her paper and she compares their schedules.  
   
"We've got lunch together!" she says, handing it back. "Not much, but at least you'll know someone. Do you have your off campus permission slip?" Zayn nods. "Awesome. Then we can go somewhere else besides the sucky cafeteria for lunch. Even I can't eat the school food."  
   
"Great." Zayn follows Niall into the small school, before splitting off with amicable goodbyes as they go to different homerooms. They're sorted alphabetically and the students have been in the same homeroom since freshman year, so it's likely that Zayn will spend this time alone and ignored in the back of the room.  
   
When she walks in, everyone's already seated, so she sits by herself at the back and hopes to avoid being noticed by anyone. She pulls out her book and starts reading, ignoring the announcements and not standing for the Pledge of Allegiance (true rebel she is). The bell rings and the half-asleep teacher motions for them to go, not even introducing Zayn to the class -- which Zayn is very grateful for. She walks to first period by herself (a creative writing class) and sits near the back, behind a group of rowdy boys that look very much like jocks. Zayn'd rather sit behind them than the group of gossiping girls, though. While the jocks look like misogynist pigs, the girls look like they have claws for nails and daggers for teeth and words as jarring as a bullet.  
   
(The same group of girls are watching Zayn with hawk-eyes and whispering about her behind moisturized and manicured hands.)  
   
"Check out what's behind you," one of the boys whispers, making all of them turn around and eye Zayn lecherously. She hates being objectified, but she knows it's a part of life. That's a troublesome thought, but Zayn has never been much of an upfront feminist; she's more of a slow-burn one, where issues loiter and burn holes in the back of her mind.  
   
"Welcome to Bayberry," another says, winking at her. She rolls her eyes.  
   
"Fuck off."  
   
They all 'oooh' and 'aaah' at her response, snickering as they turn back around. One, the boy with shorter brown hair, turns back around.  
   
"Sorry," he whispers before turning to face front once more.  
   
Zayn cocks her head. He's the boy she saw lifting weights the other day -- the one she flirted with through a window pane and from fifty feet away. She still congratulates herself on that occasionally.  
   
Zayn smirks to herself before gazing out of the window as the teacher babbled about the syllabus and different writing techniques they'd learn. It was making to be a very boring year.  
 

* * * * 

   
When Zayn gets back to her house, she immediately taps a cigarette out of the pack and sits on the patio to smoke. It's becoming her favorite place -- there's some trees so she can be cool in the shade, and a nice view of the backyard and the clusters of trees beyond the fence, separating her house and the one behind it.  
   
"Hello?"  
   
Zayn turns around and sees none other than Niall at her gate. There's worse people she could be seeing, she supposes.  
   
"Um, hey," Zayn says. "Come in, I guess."  
   
"Is this okay? Your mom said you were out here," she says, shrugging in and re-latching the gate.  
   
"Oh, yeah." They're silent for a little bit.  
   
"How was your first day?" Niall asks, leaning back in her chair.  
   
"It was alright. Lot of assholes at this school," Zayn replies, ashing her cigarette. She watches the grey flakes as the float and drift slowly towards the ground before dragging her eyes away.  
   
"Totally." Niall pauses. "D'you like _Skins_?" The question is unexpected, but Zayn answers nonetheless. If there's a prerequisite to being a misunderstood, brooding adolescent, it's watching _Skins_.  
   
"I'm hoping you mean the UK version," Zayn says, smiling just a little bit. "The American version is shit."  
   
"Agreed," Niall says in relief. "What's your favorite generation?"  
   
So they chat about _Skins_ for awhile, about how sad they were when Chris and Freddie died and how they feel indifferent towards third generation because, compared to the other two, it was just so _horrible_.  
   
"Zayn?" Niall asks after awhile, after Zayn has become comfortable with Niall and has slipped into that quiet mode that you get into after talking with someone for awhile where you want to tell them everything.  
   
"Yeah?"  
   
"You aren't getting too much shit, are you?" she asks, running her fingers through her hair. "I mean, I know what it's like being the new girl here, and. Well. You can talk to me. Always."  
   
Zayn smiles, a rare, genuine Zayn smile. She appreciates Niall reaching out to her, she really does.  
   
"When did you move to this shithole, then?" she asks, taking another drag of her approximately millionth cigarette and blowing smoke rings.  
   
"Four years ago. I was thirteen and had braces and a page-boy haircut. It was a rough time for me," she confesses. "Hey, can I bum a smoke?"  
   
Zayn offers her the pack, shrugging. "Need a light?"  
   
Niall wordlessly nods, and Zayn lights the end of her cigarette as she inhales, gracefully blowing the grey smoke out.  
   
"And, like, I've heard some people talking about you," Niall finally adds. "Like, the jocks and stuff."  
   
"Oh?" Zayn replies, feigning disinterest.  
   
"Yeah. Like, dude, you're hot, so I understand it, but they're kind of vulgar. I just -- I just wanted to let you know."  
   
"Yeah, I do. Thanks, though."  
   
They sit in silence for a few minutes, but it's comfortable, and Zayn doesn't feel friendless.  
 

* * * *

   
   
The next morning starts a lot like the previous one, with Zayn in the backyard smoking in her underwear because she actually _likes_ looking at her thighs and doesn't care if the creepy neighbor does, too.  
   
Every other morning starts like that.  
   
Zayn gets a job at the local bakery, where she works with a cute curly-haired boy in the grade below her that is very flirty and very pretty and covers for Zayn when she takes copious smoke breaks just because she can. At this job Zayn discovers that she has a frosting "gift", as Harry calls it (the pretty curly-haired boy with the cupid pink lips and greengreen eyes and pale smooth skin with the big hands and big feet and [what Zayn assumes is] a big dick). Zayn thinks it comes from the drawing she sometimes dabbles in when she's bored, the floating hands that make rude gestures or hold a cigarette between the crooked pointer and middle fingers or that are simply drawn held out, waiting for another hand to hold.  
   
So Zayn paints pretty and edible pictures on cakes and cupcakes and cookies while Harry watches on, either sitting on the counter next to her or caging her into the counter with his chin on her shoulder. He's quite tactile, and Zayn finds it nice; he's very cuddly and warm and Zayn likes the feeling of his slightly-soft chest (gradually tightening with muscle and growing broader and _wow_ it's crazy seeing how much and how quickly he grows and changes) on her back, even though it'll never go further than little cuddles at the bakery, because one time, when he was making hot chocolate for them to drink as they leisurely closed, he whispered the confession that made Zayn give him a hug and knit them closer than before.  
   
(Harry told her that night that he didn't really know what he was but what he knew was that there was a beautiful player on the school soccer team that had blue eyes that held secrets and love that Harry wanted to be privy to, wanted it so bad, but he was scared so Zayn held him and said she would help him with whatever he needed and from then on they always looked at each other with a beautiful type of love in their eyes because that's what happens when you find your kindred spirit. At least Zayn thinks so.)  
   
Zayn also finds out that she's good at deflecting insults and wolf-whistles, the hissed "slut"s that are casually thrown at her in the hallway between classes and the "suck my cock" that that one boy, Andy, constantly says in a voice that floats to her no matter how far away she is from him.  
   
(Zayn also hates how PE is required, even for seniors, so, three times a week this semester and twice a week next semester she can be found in a class with other 15 to 18 year olds, feeling humiliated. The worst part is if you fail PE at this school, you can be held back. Zayn thinks it's torturous and unnecessary and was made to publicly embarrass the less physically fit students. Not everyone can be a talented athlete.)  
   
Other than that, Zayn has found a nice niche for herself in the bakery with Harry and smoke-filled walks to and from school with Niall and silent eyes locked with the brown-haired boy she saw lifting weights -- Liam Payne.  
   
When Zayn learns his name, it's a nudge from Niall and a whispered, "Why is Liam Payne staring at you?" that's handed over to her ears and travels to her brain for her to pick apart and realize if she moves her head _just so_ she can see him watching her from the corner of her eye and her hair falls, like a black waterfall, enticingly over her shoulder.  
   
So Zayn figures that Bayberry isn't that bad, and that she doesn't miss Ant and Danny as much as she thought she did before. They can never be replaced, but she can find friends that fill her up with happiness and laughs and petty little problems that are solved at the end of the day just like they did back home.  
   
Just like that, Zayn adjusts.  
 

* * * *

   
It's a bitterly cold Tuesday in late January, just after Zayn turns eighteen and can buy her own cigarettes with her own money at the local convenience store, when Liam finally talks to her.  
   
It's a simple, "Can you help me with this prompt?" in that damn first period creative writing class, but to Zayn, it's a hand reaching out. So she takes it.  
   
She explains to Liam what exactly the teacher meant when he said that he wanted an image of somewhere engraved in his mind by the students' words, and the person who did it best would be able to publish the piece of their writing in the town's monthly magazine of creative writing. Each month they have a draw like this, and Zayn hasn't won one because she hasn't worked at all on any of her assignments so far.  
   
Zayn figures it's an easy assignment, but what she isn't expecting is Liam to boldly (for him) ask her if she wants to accompany him to his chosen location.  
   
(Boldly for Liam is sad doe eyes and a quiet, slightly-stuttered question asking if she'd like to work on the assignment with him.)  
   
Zayn was planning on writing about the bakery, but she throws caution to the wind and agrees to go with Liam. What could it hurt? Besides, she's been wanting to learn more about this quiet boy that ran with the jackasses around the school.  
   
(Speaking of, Harry pointed out to Zayn who the boy he likes is. It's Louis Tomlinson, number 17, with sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes that do, as Harry told Zayn, hold secrets and love. He's tan and small and quick and one of the stars, and a senior, so Harry has accepted the fact that he'll never really know Louis. Zayn hasn't.)  
   
Liam asks her when his pals aren't listening, so nothing changes as they allow Zayn to leave the classroom first then make lewd gestures at her behind her back. Zayn didn't expect it to.  
   
   
   
When they go, Zayn finds out a lot about Liam.  
   
Things like his birthday is August 29th, making him seventeen still; his favorite color is red; his favorite class is phys ed; one of his kidneys doesn't work, so he's always designated driver at parties because he doesn't drink; and he's noticed Zayn ever since that day she walked past his house and watched him for a few moments as she smoked. That makes Zayn flush, but Liam either doesn't notice or pretends not to. Zayn appreciates it.  
   
"So this prompt," he says after he picks her up from her house in his beaten up maroon Toyota.  
   
"It's easy," she says, staring out the windshield. "All you have to do is pick a place and describe it so Mr. Trent can picture it when he closes his eyes."  
   
Liam nods, but Zayn continues anyways. She's never chatty unless she's nervous, and right now she can inexplicably feel butterflies fluttering around her stomach every time she takes a breath.  
   
"I think I want to make mine almost dreamy, you know? Like a hazy quality so it swims across your eyes when you hear about it." Already she feels as if she's talked too much, so she offers up an excuse to not: "Do you have any music in this thing?"  
   
"There's CDs in the glove compartment," he says, taking a left onto Mull Street. Zayn watches Harry's house as they pass by and briefly wonders what he's doing right now, whether he's at the bakery picking up an extra shift or thinking of Louis or getting his homework done, but then the moment's over and she's rifling through his glove compartment looking for acceptable music.  
   
"There's quite a lot of Cher and Madonna," she notes, gently moving them to the side as she continues her search.  
   
Liam blushes. "This was my mom's car, it still has a lot of her music," he explains.  
   
"Mhm," Zayn says in a pacifying manner, but throws Liam a quick grin so he knows she doesn't mean it.  
   
Zayn stumbles upon the alt-j album, so she puts that in despite its decidedly sexual themes. "Intro" fills the car, leaving Zayn to appropriately stare out the window and avoid conversation and embarrassment.  
   
"What were you going to describe for the prompt?" Liam asks, and Zayn looks at him in confusion before remembering that speaking was, in fact, appropriate human behavior.  
   
"I was going to do something predictable, like the bakery. You?"  
   
"Where we're going now." He smiles at her, a smile so blinding and crinkly that it fills her vision with white spots momentarily until she regains her bearings.  
   
"I hope you're not driving to the remote woods to kill me," Zayn says, a poor attempt at a joke, and Liam  surprisingly laughs.  
   
"Trust me, I won't kill you."  
   
"Good." Even though Liam joked with her, Zayn still hates her useless comments. She feels like ninety percent of what comes out of her mouth is awkward or inappropriate or useless, so she tries to talk as little as possible. Something about Liam makes her want to keep talking, and it makes her uncomfortable. He's just so open, she almost wishes she were, too.  
   
They stay in a comfortable silence for the rest of the car ride, and after about twenty minutes they pull into a dirt road and follow that for another ten before Liam pulls into the driveway of a wooden cabin. Behind it stretches a lake and trees and mountains, a beautiful sight, and Zayn breathes in the sweet air until Liam breaks the silence.  
   
"What do you think?" he asks, biting his lip in worry.  
   
"It's beautiful," Zayn answers honestly.  
   
"I don't usually take people here," Liam confesses, moving closer to her. "Andy's my best friend and he's never been here."  
   
"That's because he's an asshole," Zayn says without thinking, but looks back at Liam. "Oh, sorry. It's kind of weird thinking that people actually like him." She pauses again. "Shit, I said something bitchy again. Sorry."  
   
"It's okay," Liam says, giggling a bit, and Zayn thinks that this boy is very pretty and very cute when he giggles, even though it's kind of funny seeing a boy of his size giggle. But it's worth it when his warm brown eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles. Zayn looks back to the lake.  
   
They get out of the car, and Zayn wordlessly follows Liam into the cabin. It has a lot of dark wood and is filled with the furniture that rich people buy when they want a room to look cozy and woodsy.  
   
"Do you want something to drink?" Liam asks, immediately going to the fridge. "We have water... and water."  
   
"Water's fine," Zayn replies, looking around still. There's drawings and framed paintings all around; a lot of mountain scenes and children. There's something homey about the cabin, but it still reeks of old money, so Zayn doesn't touch anything, lest she taint it.  
   
"Here you go," Liam says, handing her a glass before nervously taking a sip out of his own. "Uh, do you like it? The place?"  
   
"It's... great. Really," Zayn adds in reassurance, which makes Liam's eyebrows go back from that elevated, worried place to their normal state. He has quite nice eyebrows, Zayn muses, and looks down at her water to get the thought of anything of Liam Payne being nice out of her mind.  
   
"So... want to go out? To work on the assignment?" he asks after a few moments of silence, and Zayn nods and follows him back out the cabin -- through the living room that has a record player, radio, and fireplace -- through the screen door and onto the deck, down the steps, onto the grass, down some more steps, and onto the rickety dock. Zayn puts her backpack down and sits on what is essentially some wood nailed together rocking sketchily on the water.  
   
"Are you sure this is safe?" Zayn asks, swallowing as she takes in her surroundings. Granted, they're only floating in about two feet of water, but Zayn _really_ doesn't like water and _really_ doesn't want to get her jeans soaked and the water's probably _really_ cold. Not cold enough to be frozen through, but cold enough for a nice case of hypothermia.   
   
"Yeah, I sit out here all the time," Liam reassures her, placing a very large, manly hand on her delicate arm in what she assumes is supposed to be a comforting manner. Instead, it makes her think of what other places she'd like his very large, manly hand to be on her body, which serves to be distracting and makes Zayn fold her legs, Indian-style (or should she say Native American? Zayn likes to be politically correct. So, correction: Native American-style), which just serves to make the rotting dock rock even more.  
   
"Mind if I smoke?" Zayn asks, keeping her voice from shaking, which makes her very proud. Because right now she can't think of anything more appealing than her warm bed that is on solid ground, but she doesn't want to go home and make Liam think she's a bitch.  
   
(Well, she is a bitch, but that's more subjective and something she doesn't want Liam to realize just yet. It's more of a Fun Fact! that Zayn likes people to come to the conclusion to themselves in a passive-aggressive manner where it doesn't really matter anymore.)  
   
"Go ahead," Liam says, face openly worried. "That kills you, you know," he adds.  
   
   
"Oh, gee, really? They should make that more obvious in the commercials," Zayn answers, almost in a subconscious manner, and immediately regrets it.  
   
But Liam laughs, relieving Zayn. She shakes out a cigarette and lights it, letting the smoke lightly wrap around her head before spiraling up to the sky.  
   
While they work -- well, Liam working, and Zayn pretending to work while watching Liam work -- Zayn feels good. Sure, she's smoked most of her pack, but Liam's biting his bottom lip as he concentrates and his lips are just so _pink_ and _perfect_ and his brow is furrowed and his eyes are flitting across his paper as his hand slowly goes left to right.  
   
Throughout the few hours they're out there, they move closer and closer together on the dock to conserve body heat (or so Zayn tells herself). By the time they're wrapping it up and deciding to head back inside for a cup of hot chocolate to defrost themselves before heading home, their sides are pressed together from foot to hip, hip to shoulder, and Zayn's given up on writing and has been looking at the lake for awhile with her head resting on Liam's shoulder.  
   
Zayn thinks that this might be a bad thing, this infatuation with Liam's lips and hands and eyes. Zayn hopes it doesn't grow to anything else.  
   
But, as most of Zayn's life, it goes exactly the way she's hoping it doesn't.  
 

* * * *

   
That month, surprisingly enough, Liam wins the writing competition. He blushes as Mr. Trent congratulates him and claps him on the back, the rest of the class clapping disinterestedly and watching as he walks back to his seat, the free issue of the monthly _Writer's Air_ held, almost tenderly, in his hands.  
   
Zayn watches him as he sits down and quietly takes out her phone, typing him a text message.  
   
 _am i ever going to see what you wrote?_ she sends. His reply comes quickly, and she opens it with bated breath.  
   
 _mayb 2day. my house 6? ;)_ she reads, cheeky winky face and all.  
   
Against Zayn's better judgment, she sends just one word:  
   
 _ok._  
 

* * * *

   
That night, Zayn gets ready in her and Safaa's room. Safaa's watching with interest in her eyes as Zayn tries on outfit after outfit, looking at herself in the mirror and sighing each time. _Nothing_ looks right.  
   
"Where are you going?" Safaa asks as Zayn tries on her Kooks shirt with black jeans.  
   
"A friend's house," Zayn replies absentmindedly.  
   
"A _boy_ friend's house?" Safaa says excitedly, leaning forward. "Who is he? Is he cute? Is he popular? It's not _Harry_ , is it, because he comes over all the time and when you go to his you don't give a shit what you look like --"  
   
"Language," Zayn scolds, turning to her younger sister with folded arms. "And no, I'm not going to Harry's, and _yes_ , it is a boy, but you don't know him so it doesn't matter. And you shouldn't swear." A pause. "Yes, he's cute." Zayn shuffles over and leans into Safaa's ear, whispering, " _Very_ cute."  
   
Safaa squeals. "You're so lucky," she sighs, leaning back on her bed and holding herself up with both hands. "I wish I was as old as you."  
   
"Enjoy where you are," Zayn says, finally deciding on her astrology t-shirt and black jeans, a flannel thrown on to wear under her leather jacket for extra warmth. She's decided to walk, since Liam's not far, and it's better than having her mother drop her off or having to ask Liam to come and pick her up. Besides, she's wearing combat boots with thick wool socks, and she'll walk fast. It's fine.  
   
"You have more fun than I do," Safaa whines.  
   
"You'll get there," Zayn promises, landing a kiss on Safaa's head when she's stopped squirming. "Enjoy being a kid, it's way more fun than being a grownup."  
   
"So you say," Safaa throws as Zayn leaves, but Zayn merely blows a kiss in her direction before closing the bedroom door behind her.  
   
   
   
"Where are you going?" Zayn's mom asks, voice suspicious.  
   
"Just going to Liam's, Mom," Zayn says, attempting to keep exasperation out of her voice.  
   
"Text me when you get there. Don't go anywhere else. Home by midnight," she calls as Zayn slams the door behind her.  
   
As soon as she's out, she lights another cigarette and is determined for it to last the entire way to Liam's. She's trying to cut down on her intake -- cigarettes are getting expensive, at least the kind Zayn likes, and the bakery doesn't offer the highest salary.  
   
She's there quickly, and only her fingers are feeling numb and not her whole body. She knocks on the door quickly, stamping the snow off her feet, and when Liam answers, he give this blindingly _bright_ smile that almost takes her breath away.  
   
"Come in, come in," he says, practically pulling Zayn inside. He closes the door behind her, waiting as she unlaces her boots and pulls them off. He smiles at her mismatched socks, one red and one grey with a blue toe and heel, and takes her coat and lays it over the nearest piece of furniture.  
   
Liam's house is really nice -- he's rich, which Zayn knew, but she didn't know that his house was _this_ nice. The furniture is probably Stickley or something ridiculous like that, and everything looks like if you touch it twenty dollar bills would come floating out of it.  
   
"Um, this is the Payne residence," he says awkwardly, gesturing around him. "It's not much, but it's home."  
   
Zayn snorts at the "not much" but disguises it as a cough and sniffle combination. "It's nice," she says after, looking around. "So, where's the magazine?"  
   
"Oh, yeah," he says, then adds, "it’s in my room. I'll be right back." He disappears, leaving Zayn in the foyer, but she moves into what she hopes is the living room and not some fancy parlor that you're not allowed to sit in and sits stiffly on the couch.  
   
When Liam returns -- which is relatively quick -- he says, "We can go in the basement. It's where I usually hang out."  
   
So Zayn follows him down the basement stairs, avoiding thinking or making any rapey jokes, and into the beige-carpeted basement, which has signed pictures of athletes and musicians and a huge television. There's a plushy couch and two matching armchairs and a navy beanbag. Zayn opts for the couch, running her hands subtly over the smooth suede fabric; Liam sits next to her. Not too close in a creepy way, but close enough that she can feel his body heat radiating off of him, and. It's nice. In a nice way.  
   
"Um, here. I hope you, uh. Like it," he says, handing over the magazine. "The page is, uh, dog-eared."  
   
Zayn opens up to it, and looks at the title, in italics and looming large over the text.  
   
"'Like the Thought of Water in a Desert, You Consume My Mind,'" Zayn reads aloud. "Hm." She continues, but reads in her head instead of out loud.  
   
It's a poem, one that's cleverly worded with uneven stanzas that are spaced around the page. Zayn follows the pattern, worrying her lip as she does so and takes in the words that swim in her vision and her brain.  
   
"Wow," she says when she finishes. "That -- that was beautiful."  
   
"Thanks." He blushes. "You know what it's about, yeah?"  
   
Zayn has an idea. "Yes?"  
   
Liam chuckles and rubs his hands on his thighs. "It's -- it's. It's about you," he finally says, and it clicks.  
   
"It's my hands," she says, skimming over the poem again.  
   
"I didn't write about the lake," Liam murmurs. "I --"  
   
The poem, the poem that's published in an actual _magazine_ , is about Zayn Malik's hands. The curves of her fingers around a cigarette, the loose way her knuckles rest when her hand is laying upright on her thigh, the way they curl into a fist when she yawns. The way their color, a dark russety caramel, looks against Liam's paler, peachy skin.  
   
"Thank you," Zayn says, looking at Liam, into his face, into his fucking _eyes_ , because goddamn this is the most beautiful thing Zayn's ever read and it's written about _her_.  
   
"It's -- it was no problem," Liam says. He swallows and Zayn watches his Adam's apple bob. "Would -- would it be okay if I. If I, uh, kissed you?"  
   
Zayn nods. "More than okay."  
   
"Okay."  
   
He shifts forward until their noses are almost touching, and Zayn can feel his nervous breaths as he leans closer and -- _oh_.  
   
So that's what it feels like kissing Liam Payne.  
   
It's over sooner than Zayn would like, but she doesn't complain, just smiles her genuine smile before capturing his lips with hers and nibbling a bit because they're just so _perfect_ and feel so _good_.  
   
"Thank you," Liam breathes, and Zayn laughs, and Liam suggests they watch a movie and he picks _Monsters Inc._ of all things which just makes him even more endearingly adorable and Zayn thinks --  
   
Well, Zayn thinks, this is definitely okay.  
 

* * * *

   
It's another cold day, and Zayn thinks that's what this town is made up of -- biting days in winter so everyone feels like it'll never be gone, that they'll forever be in a pit of snow mixed with dirt that had begun to melt but then froze over again. Today, Zayn's going to ask Liam to come with her on a project.  
   
She musters up the courage at lunch, when Niall's chatting in one ear about some show she was watching the other day and Harry's in her other, daydreaming about Louis. She pulls out her phone and starts typing a new message.  
   
 _hey, liam, wa_  
   
She deletes, then starts again.  
   
 _hi._  
   
No.  
   
 _want to hang after school?_  
   
She looks at her screen for a few moments, hoping it isn't too desperate, before hitting send. His reply comes quickly -- obviously a yes -- so she sends,  
   
 _we're gonna need your car. that ok?_  
   
and waits. His reply, again, comes quickly.  
   
 _sure_  
   
   
The end of the day takes too long, in Zayn's opinion. She already knows exactly where to go and what to do, so when she sees Liam she grabs him by the arm and pulls him immediately to the parking lot, feeling jittery.  
   
“Can we just stop by mine real quick?” she asks as she hops in. “I need to grab something.”  
   
“Yeah, sure,” he answers, amusement in his voice. “Are you alright?”  
   
“Fine, just excited,” she says, feeling the warmth from it chase away all the coldness from the bitter winds.  
   
   
   
When they’re finally on their way, Zayn’s so excited she can barely sit still. She knows she’s doing the smiling thing where her upper lip dips down a bit in the middle, but she can’t bring herself to care. She stares out the window, playing with her hair as she directs Liam to their destination.  
   
They arrive, and Liam asks, “What are we doing here?”  
   
She can’t blame him. They are under a freeway bridge, after all. Cars whistle past above them, and the wind thankfully has seemed to let up. Zayn opens her bag and carefully takes out cans – cans of spray paint.  
   
“Zayn, you surely can’t be thinking –”  
   
“Oh, yes, I am,” she says, cutting him off. “I’m going to deface public property and do it in front of you, Liam Payne.”  
   
“You corrupter of innocence!” he cries, flinging his elbow over his eyes. “I can’t stand to watch this.”  
   
Zayn carefully picks up her first can, shakes it, sprays it. One line in the middle of grey. She steps back and appraises it, then continues.  
   
After a few seconds, Liam gives up his charade and uncovers his eyes, deciding to observe Zayn. She wasn’t doing graffiti – no, what she was making was art. It was uncertain what it would end up being at the moment, just a bunch of circles and other shapes, but then Zayn starts connecting the lines, and he sees.  
   
It’s hands. It’s two hands, each from a different person, and they’re holding each other. As she paints more details, he sees it clearly; it’s his hand and her hand – the darker tone of her skin is a contrast to his paleness.  
   
“Oh,” is all he says, and when Zayn looks over her shoulder and smiles at him, he thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life.  
 

* * * *

   
They do this a few more times, only on a smaller scale than the bridge painting. Sometimes Liam goes and visits it when he’s alone – it’s close enough that his parents don’t find it suspicious if it takes him thirty minutes to get milk instead of the usual ten. Zayn always picks different subjects – one time, she even spray painted a tiny model of Liam’s eye on the porch floor of an abandoned house. Liam likes that she let him into that special part of her life – her art is something so personal that he feels like he’s seeing her naked for the first time every time she does it. And that’s really what it is – her baring a part of her soul to him, little by little. It’s stunning, it’s marvelous, it’s wondrous, and he never wants it to end.  
   
But, when he gets a call at eleven at night from an unknown number, he knows their little escapades must come to an end – or at least slow down. The other end of the line is Zayn, and her voice sounds kind of scratchy, and she’s saying, “Can you pick me up? I’m at the police station. I need two hundred dollars for bail. Oh god, Liam, I’m even in the single cell that’s in this goddamn place and it’s so small –”  
   
“I’m on my way,” he says, getting his wallet. He’d gone to the bank to take out some money earlier in the week, intending to get a Valentine’s Day present for Zayn – he wasn’t sure at all what he’d get, and he wanted options. He tries to be quiet on his way out; both of his parents are asleep, but they’re relatively light sleepers, and he doesn’t want to take any chances.  
   
The ride over to the station seems like a lifetime. Liam has a million thoughts running in his mind at once, ranging from _oh god is she okay what happened_ to _goddammit she said she wouldn’t get caught what the fuck is going on_.  
   
When he gets there, he’s frantic with worry, and can’t seem to catch his breath. He hurries to the desk, asking for Zayn Malik?  
   
The guy, Officer Dietrich, gets up and nods. “She’s in the holding cell. Who are you to her?”  
   
“I’m, uh, well. I don’t know what I am to her,” he says. “She used her one call on me,” he adds, wondering if that means anything in the police force.  
   
“Got her bail?” he asks, face sympathetic.  
   
Liam nods quickly, peeling bills from his wallet, hands shaking. “Sorry,” he says, after he drops a bill for what seems like the billionth time.  
   
“It’s okay, son, take your time,” the officer answers, and Liam doesn’t hear an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. Liam’s always been bad at detecting that kind of stuff, though, it was always Zayn who had the keen ear for irony or sincerity –  
   
 _Get a fucking grip! She isn’t dead, you idiot_ , he firmly reminds himself. He manages to hand the correct amount to the officer, who counts it and then nods to himself.  
   
“She’ll be out in a minute,” he says. “Might as well sit there. Catch your breath.”  
   
Liam nods and sits down on one of the blue plastic chairs, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Sometimes, when he’s really stressed or worried about something, he’ll almost get an anxiety attack – nothing too serious, not harmful to his wellbeing or functioning, but enough to set him on edge and keep him coiled like a spring. It’s happened only a handful of times – once, it happened when he was preparing for his biology midterm freshman year, because he couldn’t get the photosynthesis process to stick in his brain.  
   
“Liam?” he hears, and when he cracks his eyes open, Zayn swims into vision. She’s wearing one of his sweatshirts – something he notices with an air of smugness – and her favorite black jeans. Liam knows they’re her favorite because once she said it to him when they were watching a movie, because they look tight but they’re also stretchy. Her eye makeup is slightly smudged, and her hair is a bit mussed up, but she’s still beautiful. She’s holding one of those large, thick envelopes that most likely has her possessions – wallet, phone, the like – and her lower lip wobbles a bit when she sees him.  
   
“I’m so sorry,” she says, voice shaky.  
   
“It’s no problem, but Zayn, are you okay?” he asks urgently, standing up and taking her envelope thing, and taking her arm to steady her.  
   
“I’m fine, I just got caught painting,” she replies, sniffling. “They took my paints away, Liam.”  
   
And in this moment, Zayn looks so vulnerable and childlike that Liam can’t help but embrace her as tight as he can.  
   
“It’s okay, Zayn, you can get new ones,” he assures her, rubbing her back. She takes stuttering breaths, a damp spot developing on his chest where her face is. He feels such a sense of fondness, of just general _feeling_ towards Zayn because for once she doesn’t have her guard up.  
   
“Come on,” he says gently, leading her to the parking lot with his arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to go home?”  
   
“No,” she replies, voice small. “Can you drop me off at Harry’s?”  
   
And if Liam feels a stab of jealousy at that, he doesn’t let her know. “Of course.”  
   
So he opens the car door for her and closes it behind her, feeling sorry for her. It’s no fun getting arrested. However, even though he knows it’s the most selfish thing he’s ever thought in his life, he’s glad he wasn’t with her. Getting arrested with her would have made it impossible for him ever to see her again – his parents weren’t too strict but they can clamp down when they need to, even if it means keeping their son away from the girl he lo – likes.  
   
They’re silent on the way to Harry’s, just Zayn’s occasional hiccup filling the silence. She holds his hand on the gearshift. He dies inside.  
   
Once they reach the Styles’ residence, she looks at him with one of the most fierce, earnest looks he’s ever seen in his life.  
   
“Thank you, Liam,” she says first, holding up her hand when he tries to reply. “I will pay you back, every cent. You’re – you’re a great person.” She leans forward, kissing him with a quiet type of passion that makes his blood boil. She flashes a smile before opening the car door and getting out, running up to the door where it’s instantly opened and she’s enfolded in Harry’s arms. He drives away before the front door closes.  
 

* * * * 

   
Liam realizes he’s in love with Zayn when he’s in the middle of the supermarket. He’s getting a few things – milk, eggs, bread – and he’s looking at the labels of two different breads when he thinks of Zayn, and it hits him like a cinderblock – he’s in love with her. He loves Zayn Malik. He drops the two things of bread, just attempting to swallow this realization. He wants Zayn Malik to love him back. He loves her. He loves her. _He loves her_.  
   
He leaves the grocery store without buying anything.  
 

* * * *

   
The first Friday in March is a sunny, mild day filled with the air of spring. It’s beautiful, and Liam’s happy because he doesn’t have any homework to do over the weekend. What really bolsters his spirits, though, is that Zayn’s waiting for him at his car, already working on a cigarette. She hasn’t been painting since her arrest, so she’s been a bit jumpy since then.  
   
“Hey, Zayn,” he says, hitching his near empty backpack higher on his shoulder. “What’s up?”  
   
“Are your parents home?” she asks, stubbing her cigarette underneath her boot.  
   
“No, why?” he answers, unlocking the car so they can both get in. He tosses his backpack into the back seat, and she follows suit.  
   
“Just wondering,” she says, looking out the window. “Wanna hang out?”  
   
“Sure,” he replies, slightly confused. Zayn’s not a huge fan of supervision, that he knows, but she usually doesn’t so abruptly ask if there will be any. He starts driving home, turning on the radio after he realizes that Zayn won’t be filling the car with chatter about her day. He looks at her periodically, bemused by the determined look on her face. He gives up trying to decipher it after he almost drives them into a ditch.  
   
Liam lets them in once they’re at his, their footsteps echoing in the empty house. She kicks off her boots, following him upstairs, discarding their backpacks on the chair at his desk in his room. Zayn likes Liam’s room; it’s dark blue and clean and smells like him.  
   
Liam watches as she looks at the things on his desk, some pencils and his charging laptop, the small light blinking. She turns around and walks toward him, her eyes darker than usual, like her pupils have swallowed up her irises. He fleetingly wonders if she’s high.  
   
She starts kissing him then, and it’s almost aggressive how she thrusts into his mouth. He clutches the small of her back, following as she walks backwards to his bed, falling under him. He lets his mouth skim across her jaw and down her neck before sucking on the soft skin. Her hands drift down his back and over his hips to his stomach, and his developing abs (which he’s quite proud of). He feels her hands unbuckling his belt, and he stops the assault on her neck before asking, “Zayn?” in a tentative voice.  
   
She sits back then, and says, “I think we should have sex.”  
   
Liam’s brain short circuits. “Oh,” is all he says. “Okay.”  
   
“Trust me, Liam,” she says, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He swallows any reservations and lets her readjust so she’s straddling him, pulling off his jeans. He’s already half-hard, he notes with some embarrassment, his dick straining against his boxers. She looks at him from under her lashes, a devilish smirk on her lips, and he swears his dick twitches.  
   
She lets her fingers dance on the waistband of his boxers before impatiently pushing up his shirt until he gets the hint and takes it off. He briefly wonders what’s gotten into her before she pulls his boxers down and _oh_.  
   
She’s just looking at his dick with this look on her face – wonder? Fear? – and he’s overwhelmed with self-consciousness, but then she leans down and swallows him down, and _Jesus Christ_.  
   
Liam’s been with a girl before, but it was only once and he was a sophomore and she was a senior and it was really awful. Well, not awful, but definitely awkward. He said “thank you” afterwards and she left.  
   
But this – this is something different. Zayn’s maintaining eye contact, and seeing her with her cheeks hollowed and lips stretched around _him_ makes him want to come immediately. But she pulls off with a pop – _too soon_ Liam thinks – and takes off her own shirt and pants, leaving her in her bra and underwear. Liam just looks at her smooth, dark skin, and aches to touch it – which he does. After she takes off her bra, he just touches her, and she shivers under his hand. She pulls of her underwear, too, but then, in a bout of remembrance, goes back to her jeans and pulling something out of her pocket – a little foil package.  
   
“Zayn, are you sure?” he asks, praying that she doesn't change her mind because his dick is so hard he thinks he might explode.  
   
“Yeah, I’m sure,” she says, ripping it open with her teeth. She leans down and rolls it on him, and seeing her small hands on him makes his stomach tie itself into knots. He’s leaning up on his elbows, watching as she situates herself on top of his hips and adjusts his dick so it brushes against her, and he can _feel it_ , and it’s so overwhelming.  
   
She lowers herself slowly onto him, and he can’t believe how good it feels. He falls back, closing his eyes and toes curled with the effort to not come at that exact moment. He _has_ to make this good for her, and blowing his wad would be beyond embarrassing.  
   
She starts bouncing, and he’s mesmerized by her – her cheeks are flushed, hair slightly askew, and she’s throwing her head back and her neck is so long and delicate and beautiful. Liam reaches up, wraps his hand around it, squeezing lightly because he can’t help himself. He can almost touch his thumb to his forefinger, and he goes for it, squeezing tight enough that her eyes start to water. He lets go, then, and she screws her hips in little circles that feels heavenly before pulling off. Getting the message, Liam flips her over so he’s leaning over her, covering her entirely, her thighs spread so he can fit himself between them. He brushes against her a few times before thrusting in so their hips were as close as possible.  
   
“Oh God, Liam,” she moans, arching her back, and he does it again, and again, and reaches his thumb between them to rub her clit in time with his thrusts.  
   
(Liam’s watched a lot of porn, so he figures he knows what he’s doing, and this is proved by Zayn’s irregular breathing and breathy moans.)  
   
He can feel Zayn pulling his hair, and he presses open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone and shoulder, wherever he can.  
   
He feels her muscles clenching, and he can’t help but come right then inside her, filling the condom, filled with wave after wave of white. He pulls out, feeling spent, and she lets out a gust of air, her eyes closed and her hand on her forehead. He takes off the condom, tying it into a knot before tossing it in his garbage can.  
   
He falls asleep immediately after, naked on top of his comforter, so he doesn’t notice when she quietly gets dressed and leaves.  
 

* * * *

   
It’s not the last time they have sex. It becomes almost a regular thing, usually after school and once even during his free period – she skipped one of her classes and they drove to his house, almost giddy with it, and had wild rampaging sex on his bed, the floor, and finished in the shower.  
   
Liam thinks his favorite escapade of theirs was when Zayn went to his house in the middle of the night. He had awaken abruptly to tapping on his window, which was Zayn throwing pebbles at the pane. He had let her in and up quietly to his room, and she had swallowed him whole with her kisses on his neck. He had pushed her on the bed, and with her hands tangled in his hair, kissed her everywhere it counted. Sometimes, if he thinks hard enough, he can still taste her on his lips.  
   
His big mistake doesn’t come until May, when graduation seems to be approaching too quickly and time feels like it’s running out. It’s after Liam and Zayn have gotten home from school, and she’s laying on his bed with this dopey smile on her face when he says it.  
   
“I love you,” he tells her, and he can feel the burn in his stomach of _mistakemistakemistake_.  
   
“Liam,” she says, and there’s almost this pitiful tone to her voice, and he hates it. She curls up then, covering her skin, and he hates that too.  
   
She gets dressed and leaves and the only thing she says before the door closes is, “Don’t.”  
   
Liam feels like he’s ruined everything, but he doesn’t know what everything is.  
 

* * * *

   
Zayn likes closing with Harry; they take things slow and sometimes steal some pastries that will be thrown out the next morning anyways. Sometimes they make hot chocolate, casually sipping it and leaving it in different places around the bakery according to what they're doing -- when Harry sweeps, it's on the table for two by the front window; when Zayn's taking care of the receipts and cash register, it's on the counter. They've locked down a routine, one Zayn's used to and is almost a comfort at this point.  
   
This day, a few days after what she’s dubbed The Confession, for some unknown reason, she’s feeling less than good. All she can think about his “I love you”, which she can’t tell if he meant or just said it in the heat of the moment. Deep inside, she knows he meant it, just like he knows exactly how to make her favorite sandwich or what she needs after a particularly stressful day at school. Harry, sensing her distress, invites her to his for a movie night. She quickly accepts, knowing she has to talk about it. This isn’t something she can just ignore.   
   
They close up quicker than usual, and Harry opens the passenger door on his car for Zayn to get into, closing it like a gentleman. He even lets Zayn put in her phone to listen to her music -- she recently bought the Weeknd's _Trilogy_ , and she's been listening to it nonstop, so she puts that on and lets the music fill the car.   
   
"Harry," she says, twirling some of the small hairs that have come loose from her bun around her fingers, "can I tell you something?" Anxiety twists in her stomach, making it hard for her to talk.  
   
"Of course," he says, quickly glancing at her before resting at a stop sign, letting the few cars that have the right-of-way pass through.  
   
“He told me he loved me.” She lets it sit, circulate in the air of his car. She breathes it in, the words sounding unnatural coming from her mouth. Zayn doesn’t understand love – why should she? She doesn’t understand how someone in high school could feel like they love someone. How do you know if you love someone? Is there any telltale sign, like you start making a cup of coffee for them even when they aren’t there? You look at something and think of how they would react? Zayn looks out the window, turning away from those thoughts. You aren’t supposed to love in high school.  
   
“What? When?” he asks, eyebrows raised. He pulls into the driveway and turns off the car, turning to face her.  
   
“When I was at his house. After we had sex.” Zayn avoids eye contact with Harry because she can almost feel tears pricking her eyes. If there’s anything that’s difficult for her to talk about, like how special sex was with Liam and how he said he loved her, she almost starts crying. It’s like when she gets angry – she cries then, too, and she hates it.  
   
“You have to talk to him,” Harry says, shaking his head. “You can’t let this one stew, Zayn.”  
   
"I know, but I don't know what to say," Zayn admits, unplugging her phone and opening the door, climbing out of the car and onto the drive.  
   
"Maybe just talk to him in school on Monday? Ask him if you guys want to hang out. He might not even remember saying it," Harry suggests. "I'm really bad with this stuff, I can barely manage my own nonexistent love life." They both giggle slightly and Zayn can already feeling the lump in her throat dissolving.  
   
"Can we watch a scary movie tonight?" Zayn asks as Harry opens the front door. It's late, nearing ten o'clock, so his mom is probably asleep. The first Friday Zayn went over to Harry's house, it was 9:30, and she met his mom as she was heading upstairs to go to bed, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe and slippers. They've just got to be quiet, but Harry's mom wears earplugs, so they don't have to whisper too quietly.  
   
Zayn likes Harry's house. It's a little bit smaller than Zayn's, but still has three bedrooms. It's just Harry and his mom now, since his sister, Gemma, is in college.  
   
(When Harry told Zayn this, he was showing the Fordham University banner in his room to her proudly, saying that his sister was cool because she lives in New York City. It made him look almost like a little boy, an openness to his smile that made Zayn happy.)  
   
Harry's house has a homeyness, a warmth, to it that Zayn's still has yet to achieve. There's a basket of not yet folded laundry in the living room and multiple sweaters decorate a chair. There's a few pairs of shoes in the entry hall, Harry's boats much larger than his mother's heels.  
   
"Let's watch _House on Haunted Hill_ ," Harry suggests, wriggling his eyebrows. "I've heard the special effects are spectacular."  
   
"Sounds great," Zayn replies, kicking off her shoes. "It's so cold out, I can't wait to get under some blankets. Where are we watching this film?"  
   
"We can watch it on my laptop, so anywhere, basically. We can watch it in my bed though to get warm?" Harry says this almost unsure, questioning. The tips of his ears are vaguely red.  
   
"Sounds good," Zayn answers, pretending to be oblivious. She does that a lot, to save Harry embarrassment. She can't help that his body is very expressive, and neither can he. It's actually quite endearing.  
   
(Zayn thinks that if she had to choose one phrase to describe Harry overall, it'd be quite endearing. Because that's what he is. She constantly wants to poke his dimples or pull his curls or pinch his cheeks. Or his butt. It's a cute butt.)  
   
(Zayn then segues into thinking about Liam's butt. That’s a _very cute_ butt. Especially when it’s naked.)  
   
Zayn and Harry spend the night watching films on his laptop -- Harry in wool socks, a t-shirt, and boxers, and Zayn in sweatpants and a sweatshirt -- under the covers. First they watch _House on Haunted Hill_ , an old and silly film that was once scary when it came out; then they watch _The Virgin Suicides_ , because Zayn read the book last summer and has been wanting to see the film for awhile; then they watch _Girl, Interrupted_ because Zayn also recently read that too; and then they finish with _Donnie Darko_ before deciding an episode of _Portlandia_ is necessary for them to be able to sleep.  
   
Right before Zayn can feel herself dropping off, Harry hooks his foot around her ankle and nuzzles into her back. She sighs.  
 

* * * *

   
Zayn hasn't talked to Liam yet. It's been about a week, and Liam’s been calling only once a day instead of four. One day, on the way to school, walking with Niall, Zayn sees a dandelion. She plucks it out of the ground and places it behind her ear, the bright yellow a startling contrast on the backdrop of her raven black hair. She leaves it in all day, even after it droops and dies. She can't bring herself to throw it away.  
   
They play a game in school, Zayn thinks. It's all covert stares and eyes flitting away and back again. Zayn has caught Liam's eyes steady on her many times, but he's caught her, too. Zayn doesn't know why she can't pick up her phone to call him, even text him, or shoot him a smile in the hallway. Her eyes stay trained down and her feet firm on the ground. She can feel gravity pulling her down down down into the core of the earth, further from the clouds and the sky and Liam.  
   
She comforts herself by saying it'd be stupid, anyways, because college is looming over them and soon she'll be leaving again. It's no use to get attached to something you know you're going to lose.  
 

* * * *

   
Liam breaks the ice the day Zayn has thought about him the least. It’s like a sick joke on her by the universe.  
   
It's nothing large, just a text that says "hey". It makes Zayn's phone weigh twenty pounds in her back pocket. She smokes three cigarettes in a row on the way home after school, sucking them down to the filter so fast even Niall looks worried.  
   
She doesn’t reply.  
 

* * * *

   
"Zayn."  
   
Zayn's walking down the hallway, head up and eyes defiantly staring straight ahead. She slows slightly down, letting whoever it was catch up to her. It's Liam.  
   
"Hey," she says, starting to walk faster again. He grips her arm, holding her back, and she wrenches it out of his grasp. "What?"  
   
"Why won't you talk to me?" he asks, brows furrowed. He looks like a sad puppy. "I've texted you a million times -- what's wrong?"  
   
"Why did you wait until now to ask that?" Zayn replies, crossing her arms over her chest. Defensive.  
   
"I thought you hated me," Liam confesses, shifting his weight to his left foot. He crosses his arms to match Zayn's. "I wanted to give you space after – after what happened.”  
   
“I appreciate the sentiment Liam, and I would really like for you to leave me alone.”  
   
“Zayn, can we please talk about this somewhere else?” His voice is almost pleading.  
   
“Fine,” she acquiesces, following him to his car. The ride to his house is quiet and tense, and Zayn hates it, hates it all.  
   
She finds it ironic that they’re having this discussion sitting on the bed. She feels the dip in the mattress as he sits next to her.  
   
“Zayn, what’s wrong?” he finally asks, voice quiet. It sounds almost small.  
   
“I don’t know why you said it,” she answers after a while.  
   
“Why I said that I loved you?” Now he sounds hurt.  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“Because I meant it,” he says, fidgeting with his hands. “I love you, even still. I can’t help it.”  
   
“How do you know it’s love?” she asks, looking at him. His brow is furrowed, and he looks almost confused.  
   
“I just know.”  
   
“But how?” she pushes.  
   
“I guess it’s when I like, hear about you or see you I get really happy? It’s really weird, I don’t know. You make me smile a lot, even when you’re acting dumb, I guess. Like, when you’re drawing or something, you get this look on your face, like you’re really concentrating. Or when you’re talking about something you really care about, you smile a lot, but this special smile.”  
   
Zayn’s lip trembles.  
   
“I guess that’s how I know,” he finishes. “That probably sounds really dumb.”  
   
“No, it doesn’t,” she says, shaking her head.  
   
“And, like, I don’t expect you to say it,” he says, sounding worried or something dumb like that. “I just think you should know that I love you.”

“Thank you, Liam Payne,” she says, and she feels really stupid for saying it, but she leans in and kisses him anyway.  
 

* * * *

   
Zayn doesn’t think they’re in a relationship, though – sure, he gives her rides to and from work and school and stuff, but he doesn’t walk her to every class or hold her hand in the halls or any of that junior high crap. They still hang out, and they still have a ton of sex though, and if they’re watching a scary movie Liam wraps his arms around her. She likes it, what they have. It’s just – it is what it is.

As graduation creeps closer and closer – it’s about a week away, now – Zayn feels insurmountable anxiety. She doesn’t want to stand in front of a ton of people with all of her classmates that she still doesn’t know. She goes to parties and stuff with Niall, sure, but she doesn’t really talk to anyone. She mostly is on the fringes of groups and listens to their conversations instead of actively participating.

Zayn sent in her decision and deposit to Brooklyn College about a month and a half ago, and when she told Liam he had seemed really happy. He had decided on Syracuse, and Zayn likes that they’ll be in the same state, even if on opposite ends of it. She finds it oddly comforting. When they’re in his room after school, tired and drowsy and most likely naked under the covers, he weaves tales of him visiting her in Brooklyn and sneaking into her dorm room at night and her going to his football games at Syracuse, even though he’ll most likely be on the bench. Meeting his fraternity brothers. Eating with him in the dining hall. Hanging out with her friends at underground clubs. Sitting in bookstores. Drinking coffee. Smoking cigarettes.

She lets him believe it, and she hates herself for it. Because she knows that it’ll never happen, that she’s breaking it off before they leave so they aren’t tied down. It’s the logical thing to do, and she knows that as amazing as his daydreams sound, they won’t be as frequent as he wants them to be. Sure – they’ll start out maybe every two weeks or so, some random visits here and there, but they’ll spread out farther and farther until they’re nonexistent and she’s wondering if it’s okay to go to a party and maybe hook up with someone or if she’s still with him and then there’ll be a call where one of them is saying “it just isn't working” and that’ll be that. Zayn thinks that’s pathetic. She doesn’t want it to end that way, so she’s going to do it on her own terms.

But Zayn is scared. She's never considered herself a coward, but she sure is feeling like one now. It's just – whenever she takes a deep breath in preparation to explain to him why this can't continue, he does something stupidly nice, like giving her a new set of charcoal or something. 

So she lets it sit. She doesn't encourage his planning, and just gives a sad little smile whenever he talks about it, and eventually he peters out. Zayn wants it to work, wishes that it could; but she knows that once she gets there, the comfort Liam would be able to give wouldn't outweigh the inconveniences, the cage that being in a long-distance relationship brings. She knows it must end, but another thing she knows is this: they've got time.

* * * *

When graduation finally creeps up on all of them, everyone's nervous – except for Zayn. She still can't be bothered with it all – all the preparation, the parties, the dressing up, the fake smiles, the inevitable tears from her mother. She just wants it to be over with already, to be honest.

“You excited?” Niall asks, applying another coat of pink lipstick. She'd made Zayn put on a dark red color, which Zayn has to admit makes her look pretty badass. 

“No,” Zayn says, picking up some of the products on Niall's dresser. “You?” 

“Kind of,” she replies, shrugging. “Like, after this, we're done. I'm off to Geneseo, you to Brooklyn, Liam to Syracuse, Harry's staying here... it's a lot of changing, but it's time. Don't you think it's time?” 

“I guess.” Zayn looks at Niall, really looks at her, and watches as she brushes out her long blond hair. “I mean, I've been waiting for this day since first day of freshman year at my old school, but now I'm here, and I feel like it went by really fast.” 

“I feel ya,” Niall answers, smacking her lips together. “You ready for this, then?” 

Zayn nods and follows Niall out of her bedroom. Zayn likes Niall's house, even if she hasn't been there too often. It's cozy and a bit smaller than Zayn's house, but it's just Niall, her mom, and her dad, since her brother's off at college. It reminds Zayn of her old house, which fills her with a sense of nostalgia. She really loved that house, but she knows leaving it was the right thing to do. 

“You girls look beautiful,” Zayn's mom says, setting down her mug of tea. She had been chatting with Niall's mom while Zayn and Niall got dressed for the ceremony. Maura – Niall's mom – reiterated this and nodded her head, her hands clasped over her heart. 

“I'm so proud of you two,” she says, smiling. “This is a wonderful day.” 

Zayn's mom nods along, reaching her hand out for Zayn to take. Zayn feels herself being pulled into a hug, the comforting scent of her mother enfolding her. She breathes deeply, giving herself a few moments, before softly pulling away. She holds on to her mother's hand. 

“I'm going to give Maura a ride to the school now and pick up the girls,” Zayn's mom finally says. “You girls should get going if you want to be on time.” 

Niall and Zayn pull their shoes on and grab their bags, shutting the door behind them. It's a lovely day for a graduation, the sun shining with a soft breeze.

“Want a last cigarette?” Zayn asks, taking her pack out of her bag. 

“Sure,” Niall replies, taking one. “I'm going to have to reapply my lipstick though.” 

Zayn just lights her cigarette and then hers. She takes a deep drag and blows the smoke up at the sky. 

“This is our last time walking to school together,” Zayn says after a few moments of silence. 

“I don't feel that sad about it,” Niall says, flicking ash. “Like, I'll miss you, but I won't miss walking to school every day. Or this school in general.” 

“Me too.” Zayn looks at Niall and smiles, linking her arm in hers. 

“Isn't it weird to think that in a few months we'll have practically new lives?” Niall muses. “It's so exciting.” 

“It really is.” Zayn smiles at her friend once again, thankful that she moved here and met these people. Zayn rarely finds herself feeling sentimental, but this is one of those times. She takes another drag of her cigarette and smiles a secret smile at the sky.

* * * *

The graduation is nice; the school orchestra plays Pomp and Circumstance, the principal doesn't mispronounce Zayn's name, and one of the girls that snarled at Zayn in the hallway all year stumbled on stage from one of her heels getting caught in the hem of her gown. Niall's reapplied lipstick made her teeth sparkle when she shook the faculty members' hands, Liam's eyes crinkled when he smiled at Zayn from onstage, and the valedictorian's speech was pretty good. It was warm, but there was a breeze, and Zayn thinks she didn't sweat too much underneath the polyester gown. Her mom and sisters stood up and clapped, Safaa and Doniya cheering, Waliyha giving her small Waliyha smile, her mother crying. It made Zayn's eyes prickle, but she definitely didn't cry. She swears on it.

And later that night, after the party at Louis Tomlinson's house, where she found Harry making out with said soccer player in his bedroom, she and Liam went back to his house. She could feel his gaze upon her, could sense when he smiled at her. Once they're in his room, he brushes back her hair and she lets him lay her on his bed. 

“This is going to be a great summer,” he says, kneeling in between her thighs, forearms bracketing her head on his pillow. His scent surrounds her and she breathes it in. 

“I know,” she murmurs, kisses being pressed onto her neck by him. His lips are feather soft, and one of her favorite parts of him. She loves his lips – they're a lovely shade of pink, and feel so right when they're moving with hers or on her skin. 

And later, after they've had sex and Zayn's smoked a cigarette out his window, they lie on his bed with his arms around her and her on his chest. For the first time, she feels invincible in his embrace, and lets herself sink into it. And as his breaths slow and become deeper, steadier, she feels as if they have all the time in the world. She closes her eyes, and follows him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the first part of my ziam fic!!! next part will be summer, and then the third and last part will be their freshman year in college. thank you for reading and please leave comments/kudos!!! sorry i know nothing about arrest or street art so some things might be inaccurate whoops
> 
> tumblr [here](http://ofindie.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chat come and stop bye yo


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